


Life No. 10

by eff_reality



Category: Death Proof (2007), Grindhouse (2007), TARANTINO Quentin - Works
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/pseuds/eff_reality





	Life No. 10

It was the closest Kim had ever felt to _in character_ in her career. She'd overheard actors talking about it countless times: "the blackout," when all the words you've memorized fall away, all those layers of clothing and make-up adhere to your skin, your mind goes blank, and you just _are_. One dude, this fucking hipster extra on her last shoot, referred to it as "spiraling"; he likened it to spinning aimlessly through space and just feeling your way through, with only your acting partner to guide you. It took a big steaming heap of logic to convince her to not punch him in the fucking mouth.

Kim had done improv before, in her stunts training—they all had to go through it to achieve some semblance of spontaneity in their stunt work. But it always seemed to go against her instincts. Stunting was about choreography, rehearsal, a series of highly practiced, highly self-aware motions. It was all acting, no being. If you _spiraled_ for even a split second, you ended up busting your ass (or someone else's).

That joy ride, though, that blacked her out. That blacked her out good.

She could still taste it in the back of her throat, the blood, sweat, and sun, the white-hot star-spangled rush as they kicked the shit out of that monster in a stuntie's uniform. She could still see the glint of Abernathy's spit as it arched through the air in slow-motion and landed on his cheek. She could hear Zoe's grunt and the impact her shoe made when the hard toe went up into his balls even though there was no more pain to be squeezed at that point.

She could still hear the rumble in her heart when the engine revved as they screeched off in their tore-up dream car with triplet smiles. And she could feel the sharp change in it as she caught sight of that lifeless silhouette in the rearview, baking on the pavement behind them.

And that's when she realized: this wasn't just an experience, it was a secret, a legacy that would bind the three of them indefinitely. As she dug her foot into that old-school gas pedal, the questions started coming at her from every angle: Would they go back for the body? Would they keep the car? Would Abernathy be cool? Kim had no intentions of telling her man. Not that she told him much, anyway—they'd only been together a couple of months, and besides, bitching's what she had Zoe for.

Always on cue, Zoe reached over and put a hand on her thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm that didn't go deep enough to offer the kind of comfort Kim needed.

The drive back to the redneck's had been a blur. Like getting home piss-drunk, it felt like a fraction of the time it took and Kim still couldn't comprehend how she remembered the way back. Leigh—bless her stupid little heart—was still in that same fucking chair propped up against the barn, and looking way too happy to see them. The redneck, on the other hand, was obviously none-too-pleased with the condition of his automobile.

Abernathy was out of the car before Kim even hit the brake— _Jasper, I have a perfectly good explanation, you're not going to believe this_ —but she and Zoe took their time slithering out. Leigh was a blob of hair and skirt in Kim's peripheral: _Guys, what happened? Are you all okay?_ They shrugged, looking to Abernathy for the answer to that.

Kim had to hand it to her, girl was fucking clutch, spouting some bullshit about two cars full of drunken teenagers with pocketknives (which would explain the damage to the side of Jasper's Challenger). Still, the hick ended up making them buy it— _It's not worth fixing it back up to sell it now_ —so Leigh and Abernathy took Kim's car back to the hotel while she and Zoe drove to the nearest bar in a nice shared piece of near-death memorabilia.

Zoe half-turned back to her, fingers tripping over her belt buckle—the one she refused to loan her for before. "You get us a table, I'll get the drinks, okay?" Kim vaguely heard her say.

As she made her way through the rows of well-loved wooden tables and chairs ( _was that a Confederate motherfucking flag hanging on the back wall?_ ), Kim realized that must've been Zoe's version of a joke; they were two of about four or five questionable patrons in the place. Ordinarily, she'd have had her fuck-off expression firmly intact for such a situation, but she was still feeling like kind of a zombie, and not the movie kind, the kind she'd been made up to be countless times, syrupy fake blood funneled down her cheekbone and blueblack shadow applied carefully under her eyes. She had to admit, though: this dive was looking a hell of a lot like _Night of the Living Dead_ right about now. Kim was just waiting for all the windows and exits to fill up with foaming cannibals, and with she being the only Black person in the place, of course it'd be up to her to save the world.

The only problem with that analogy was that this wasn't a fucking movie, far from it. There would be no script to go back to, no character description to consult. Kim wasn't an actor, but she really could've used some fucking direction.

She still couldn't get that scenery out of her head, that stupid expanse of weeds poking out of that ravine, windshield like a movie screen she looked through and watched Zoe plummet to her death, or so she'd thought. She craned her neck and took a good long look at her friend, her girl, that maddening little cat, and her fingers itched to touch her, make sure she was real.

Her head made a sharp turn again as a man shifted in his seat across the room, and she had the privilege of watching him lick his teeth at her. She reached down into the inside of her jacket, under her belt, and clutched at Roscoe, just to make sure he was real, too.

Zoe, meanwhile, didn't seem at all fazed, waltzing over to the table with drinks in hand and a genuine smile on her face. She lowered herself into the seat across from Kim with a heavy sigh, tabled the beers, and licked the residue from her fingers. _Zoe the fucking Cat._ "Crazy day, huh, mate?"

Kim kept her eyes across the room as she drained half her drink and slammed the glass back down, upsetting Zoe's.

"Aww, what?" Zoe clasped her hands in a sort of appeal and slithered horizontal to get a better look at Kim's face.

"Don't fucking _Aww, what?_ me. You know damn fucking well _what_." Zoe bit back a smile, and Kim would've hit her if she didn't think Zoe would get some sick thrill from it. Fucking crazy bitch probably thought she'd spray mist from a bottle instead of her own sweat. _Sorry, Zoe, the lighting was a bit off on that one, let's do another take._ "Do you see me laughing? It's not funny."

"Kim." She grabbed Kim's hands and placed them solidly on her own shoulders. "I'm fine. Fucking brilliant, as a matter of fact." She leaned across the table, her eyes big, bright, and blue. "Nothing hap—"

"It almost did," Kim snapped. She flinched, lowering her gaze to Zoe's belt as the open road flashed across the back of her eyes. "We thought—Abernathy and I, we... _Shit._ "

A darkness filled Zoe's eyes then, one that showed itself so rarely Kim often forgot it even existed. "I'm here."

Kim filled her mouth with beer to keep it from trembling and shifted her attention back to Teethlicker to keep her eyes dry. Didn't really work.

Zoe continued peering at her, an enraptured grin creeping across her face. "You soft bitch," she said with wonder, in that funny, crass voice she used to mock Kim, and Kim couldn't help it, she spluttered beer-flavored laughter through the tears.

With a loud shift of wood against wood that rose high above the jukebox buzz, Zoe leaned up out of her chair and kissed her square on the mouth, fingers in her hair, jaw loose, agile little tongue and everything. Kim's heart gave a jump, half excited and half scared that the bartender would pull a rifle on their asses. But her lips betrayed that fear, moving swiftly into a smile against Zoe's. She could almost feel some of that sunshine bullshit Zoe wore on her sleeve rubbing off on her, and good thing, too: she was gonna need it.  



End file.
